Archive | December, 2013

Have you heard of Yakirí Rubí?

24 Dec

Fast post incoming!

It is no mystery that life can be a bitch sometimes. Actually, it being a bitch is an inherent feature and essential for human life. It’s hard to acknowledge it, I know, but it contains some dose of truth. It can show how resistant you are and shows the real faces of your surroundings. In the hardest situation, it is where you can meet the real face of people, be it with a great human quality, or a low quality of humanity.

I will tell you a tale, O Readers, and I beg to you to role play as the protagonist. Pretend you’re walking on the street, minding your own business, until suddenly a pair of rapists pop out from a van, kidnap you and sexually assault you. Naturally, you defend yourselves and don’t let them touch you. You beat them up, scratch them, and kick them, until the situation itself becomes so grim that it becomes clear that somebody won’t come out alive from here. The rapist got a knife on his hand and it’s raping you at the same time. The law of the jungle demands a life of one of you so the opponent can live and see a new sunrise. Wouldn’t you defend against this? I bet you would.

As expected, you defend yourself, use the knife against the aggressor and, in the act, kills him. You flee from the hotel to where they took you to—in where they, apparently, were familiar faces—and run to the closest policeman to denounce the crime. Minutes later, the brother of the fallen man appears and denounces you for killing his brother. You believe that, because everything was in self-defense and they had the guts to attack you first, they will jail the brother, right?

Oh, of course not, this is Mexico! It will be you the one paying for it. Why? Because life is a bitch.

Manifestación frente a las oficinas de la PGJDF,  a favor de la joven Yakiri quien de víctima pasó a victimaria, pues mató al sujeto que la quiso violar. FOTO: LUIS CARBAYO /CUARTOSCURO.COM

I just resumed the case of Yakirí Rubí, which is causing uproar in the social networks and it’s becoming a debate topic in many humanitarian groups which questions this: is it really a homicide case, and graver than her rape case, or is it actually a clear sign of a machismo case in Mexico?

I think you all know the answer. With the irregularities in the process against her, of course we know what’s going on. We, the Mexicans, are condemned to know the answer until there’s a real mental change in here.

I’ve been hearing of this case for a good while, and until now I decided to post it in response to a campaign to send letters to Yakirí as support. I sent her a poem, which I will post as well to reflect my indignation as a woman towards this sexist case, which is, sadly, an expected case in this country. To add salt to the injury, the media and culture rarely pay attention to the women’s violence situation. They make it think they’re in favour of them with their melodramas with female protagonists suffering in the hands of men, but it is actually a culture that foments this sexist lifestyle with their images of beaten women, with showing them as sex objects and selling an unrealistic image of the women life.

Liberen a mujer que defendió su vida durante una violación   #JUSTICIAPARAYAKI

If you would like to help Yakirí, please click on this image to redirect to a page to sign a petition, pleading justice for her.

Hits can be less severe than the depraved social acts towards the feminine sex…

Now, onto the poem:

The one in the well

Should the soil forget me,

don’t take away from me the wind.

Yet, should I feel the sky

run far away from me,

don’t steal the beautiful lights,

given to me by the shining stars.


If I forgot how to walk in peace,

don’t abandon me just like this.

Should you see my heart

beat as hard as ivory,

don’t forsake me in solitude,

and remind me the crimson

blood which should be

running fast inside of me.


Look how the fawn drinks.

Look at him follow his mother.

It’s not the perfumes or the roses

those elixirs that open

the love towards her fur

or the fact that he comes from her flesh.

Look at him, in love.

Look at him, lovingly.

Look at him, charmed at her trot

and her non blood drinking habits.

Such a good forest son,

following his good forest mother.


Should they throw me to a well,

not due to thirst of sweet water,

not needing to feel pleasure,

grow for me a long rose

and save me from this pit,

in where the salty waters

freeze my rosy veins.


With the stem, save me sweetingly.

Just don’t throw me thorns.

Call my name, don’t be afraid,

yet don’t cut from me my life

with the thorns of the stem

which should bring me to the day,

waiting behind the cherry tree,

up above the mounts,

my most glorious return.

If you’re surrounded

by thousands of fragrant roses,

is it not to give life?

The pit in here is awful.

Don’t open me more wounds.

I know how to scream, don’t torture me

as I am a child too,

your sister and cousin as well,

from the brown beloved eagle.


Cry. Cry. Cry. Drink.

Salt doesn’t taste like your wheat.

You want to drown me with salt,

from the very salt I’ve fallen to.

They wanted to give me salt,

which I never asked for or wanted,

Drink from the well with me.

No fawn ever drinks in here,

as this is pit is actually a gate

of an inferred hell.

No fawn should be down here,

neither grandchild or proper seed.

They threw me in scared,

they confounded with salt the wheat.


You, my brother, my pal,

don’t forsake me any longer.

My lips are dry,

they wouldn’t tolerate the drops

of water or blood that I’ve drunk,

according to the gossipy gulls.


I’m stepping over cold stone,

surrounded by muddy water.

My mouth doesn’t accept this liquid,

but the one leaking

from my tired eyes,

allergic to the thorns.


You speak with this spleen.

This shame, so null.

A fawn looks for a father.

And yet only finds himself with mules.


You don’t drink from this reflection,

offered to you by the swift current.

That’s why you don’t drink this sweet

water. You just eat thorns.

A salty storm

longed to throw me to the emptiness.

A storm I tamed,

I did not let it tame my verve.

I saw a spiral on my way to the well,

and now for a life rose I ask for

to walk outside and become a child

and sister of the fawn.

Just because you smelled my fragrance

from my torn dress,

confounding faraway salt

with the wheat and olive,

you think of me as an any stone,

lacking thousands of whispers.


Should the soil forget me,

don’t take away from me the wind.

Yet, should I feel the sky

run far away from me,

don’t steal the beautiful lights,

given to me by the shining stars.

Let me scream for help.

Let me fiercely roar.

Should you move the soil…

Should you steal the air…

Should you not give me my reflection

in the mountain rivers…

You, heed to me, it is not my rose bloom

an edible one to chew.

It is no perfume to men.

It is no essence of the beasts.

The well has frozen my hands,

yet not my powerful head.

I shall break the storms,

I shall return to the heavens,

with such might I shall do,

that I won’t lose their sight again.


Thanks a bunch for reading!




17 Dec

There’s an unsatisfied emptiness inside.

Flying hole, whose darkness’ shadow can’t hide

even with a lit candle in hand.


I know you’re there.

I can hear your silence.

I know its boldness.

Yet I don’t know its name,

and in the end I believe it’s hunger,

yet I don’t know if it is a bull or a human male.


Who are you, emptiness?

Why do I fear you?

There you are…

Yes, yes. There you are. I see you without seeing you.

I know I am hollow.

I know you’re no saint.

But, why are you mean?

Why are you here to cause me pain?

What do you want?

What do you want, Lord?


You’re not hunger… Maybe gluttony, yes.

Or perhaps you’re the hunger of hunger.

So hollow I am, I suddenly miss the pain.

As you’re just there.

Simply and easily, you’re just there.

You’re no pain.

You’re strong, yet you don’t dare

to eat and kill me.

You’re just there.

Just there.

And although, you’re no pain to me,

it pains me to not know what do you mean.


Arms shake, legs shake.

Hollow fruitless plate.

Bullet-less gun.

Who are you? Why do you exist?

Am I your Universe? Are you my hole?

Do you want to turn me into food? To destroy the Universe?

Is that it?

You hunger for me?


I am salty.


I look inside.

I pierce my brain.

In this newborn crack, I walk the opposite way.

I know there’s a hole,

doing purely nothing,

distilling pure nothingness,

lying inside.

It won’t kill. It won’t live. It won’t follow me.

Just there. Just there, it is.

And I don’t know why.

I realize myself—

I become my own Verb—

and I detect in this poison,

who won’t kill me or let me drown on it,

that I am just hungry.

Or I am just hunger.

Something I might be. I don’t comprehend.


I see. I feel. I am.

I don’t follow the hole.

In this throne,


repenting from my sins,

I just realize the inside of me.

And I detect a thought,

so useless,

so low…


I eat. I fill. And yet this hunger won’t leave.

Ants. Ants, I have.

Biting ants,

biting my womb,

biting my belly,

biting my life.

Ants, children of mine. Orphaned from a father.

A father whose name is Thought.


I move without leaving.

I stay, walking.

The soul runs, the time follows.

And somehow, I am starving.


Stop it.

Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. The ants are my children, from my chest.

But they’re opening me. They’re coming to life

Who gestated them?

Scum. You scum. Who called for you?

Scum. You scum. You unwanted scum.

They’re opening my chest…

They’re opening me, revealing me, stripping me, undressing me!

Help, help!

Hunger, hunger, hunger, hunger…!

Go away, go away, go away, o away, go away, go away…!


There’s an unsatisfied emptiness inside.

Flying hole, whose darkness’ shadow can’t hide

even with a lit candle in hand.

And yet, it is still there, palpitating, antagonizing my heart.

I don’t know if it is the running blood filling my arteries,

or the scum ants who stretch my sorrowful veins.



Your Truth

17 Dec

Erika Fuego


Don’t get caught up in the ideologies forced upon by society, lessons taught in school and traditional values instilled in you by your family. Those are others thoughts, beliefs and principles that you’ve adopted and accepted as your own but they’re not yours. Someone else lived the experience, came to those thoughts and to that truth.

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Have you heard of Presumed Guilty and Leaving Fear Behind?

11 Dec

I’ve forgotten when was the last time I watched a movie in the theater. I seriously don’t remember when was it. And certainly I am not in the mood to return to the cinema. I am a tad disappointed with it. Or better said, with Hollywood—I am disappointed with it. Its huge movies, its huge special effects, its epic sceneries… Yup, believe it or not, I no longer like them that much. I find now my little pleasures with indie movies, foreign movies, who know that they mustn’t impress to win movie—actually, you could say they’re rather aware they won’t even win that much—, because they’re doing it for the art. I am not saying I don’t like all Hollywood movies, I am just saying that they no longer seem movies for me, but rather they’re merchandise, as in The Hunger Games franchise, which, according to this, got a message and stuff, but which seems to me as a marketing tool and a movie with rather shallow ends (and I know I am getting in trouble for commenting that I don’t think The Hunger Games are cool, but I would like to explain this in the future if it is no problem, because the topic in question right now it’s a completely different one; I just beg you: don’t kill me for the moment, please?).

…Is that a no?

          But I won’t be unfair and a generalizing person: it’s the same gist with the cinema around the world, which also seek to get money over making art. Mexico’s one of them, with films such as Nosotros los Nobles, Salvando al Soldado Pérez, the remake of Hasta el Viento Tiene Miedo…and other comercial jewels that don’t exactly offer lots of artistic or humanistic intentions. It’s proper of this century that there’s a loss of aesthetic tastes and the indoctrination of entertaining pleasures which don’t seek precisely to bring some benefit for the spirit or to bring a critical analysis of society.

          However, everytime there’s art house films or, overall, a very worthwhile film, be it from Hollywood or Mexican or Iranian or French or British or Brazilian, etcetera, I try to watch it to support the industry. A tiny action to do, of course, but I believe this is better than nothing, huh? Even better if said films truly want to help people—films that want to give to the public not just entertainment or life splendor caught with a reel—. Wouldn’t be the same thing, of course, but that’s why there are documentaries that can home these activism intentions. I tend to be open to a well-intentioned documentary with a critical analysis for sake of everybody.

          However, that’s just me. It will always be different with the targets of the criticism.


          I would like to talk today about two curious cases, both from documentaries. First, we have Presunto Culpable (Spanish for Presumed Guilty), whose director, Roberto Hernández, has been already a target of numerous death threats and has received numerous lawsuits against him for showing the faces of the people in his film and which are, according to him, actual retaliations in disguise for showing the awful justice system in Mexico. Presunto Culpable deals with a, precisely, presumed guilty inmate who, with the progression of the film, reveals to be innocent of the charges against him with the exposition of proof of his innocence and which exhibits the corruption and negligence of this system, with names and faces shown along the way, of course.

          The second case in question is Leaving Fear Behind, by Dhondup Wangchen. Just as the first example, this documentary shows the abuses done by the Chinese government to the Tibetans through several interviews done to them, in where they express their opinion towards the Beijing Olympic Games (which were being held in that year), towards several politic topics, towards the Tibetan identity and towards the Dalai Lama. Wangchen, alongside his companion, were arrested shortly after the wrap up of the filming of this 25 minute documentary, yet the interviews were taken out from the country and arrived safely in the foreign countries. Wangchen’s wife has asked for help as now his husband is not receiving medical attention in the terrible conditions he’s kept in prison.

          Both cases end in a similar note: both directors became enemies of the government in charge. Hernández’s case ended in a relatively good tone, in where he didn’t get any more charges against him because… Well, the movie was exhibited already years ago. How can you make the people unsee it? Quite impossible, if you ask me.

What has been seen cannot be unseen, sadly. Were that to be the case, I would immediately cleanse my mind from all the TV junk I absorbed in my puberty. All that awkward anime stuff I watched would be the first thing to go away, for example!

What has been seen cannot be unseen, sadly. Were that to be the case, I would immediately cleanse my mind from all the TV junk I absorbed in my puberty. All that awkward anime stuff I watched would be the first thing to go away, for example!

They didn’t bother him any longer… Ok, maybe later when he recorded some interesting videos in his cellphone, but that’s so far the last I’ve heard of him.

Wangchen, on the other hand, is still behind bars. Who would have said that his 25 minute documentary, which only recorded frustrated people, would be a bitter soup for the Chinese authorities. I, honestly, didn’t know of his case until two days ago, when they sent me a plea to sign to release him, which I will post in the end. And, after investigating his situation and watching his film, his case reminded me of that of Hernández’s, as he became rather famous again last months in a reopening of his film case (it was shown in 2011, and although it received lawsuits in that time, they opened it again in these months).

          As for me, I will just give my comment and point out how censorship is becoming one of the favourite toys of the leaders around the globe today. Censorship is becoming one of the landmark concepts of these 2000s, yet it is at the same time a sign that the people always had the power in all this time and that a change is nigh if the people get together and decide for it. Censorship’s a crack on the wall that shows the monster, but whose tentacles can grasp you if you’re not careful.

See the devilish imp shape? It cracks me up everytime I think about it! Hah! Get it…? No…? Oh, ok…

          Both of these censorship cases are rather complex and I would rather not give an opinion this easily without regretting it later. However, I would like to mention the right of freedom of expression, especially if it is for sake of a group. Hernández wanted to show the failures of our system to let there be no longer an excuse of negligence and to claim for a better system. Wangchen, as he himself mentions it in his film, wants to portray the frustration of his people and to reveal to the world the injustices in the Tibet. Both directors don’t seek to harm, but to help. And that’s, in my opinion, what matters, what must be appreciated, what must be taken into consideration.

          It just cringes me to think that there are people who don’t think this way and who would not like a cleaner world in their surroundings, and this is only achieved by oppression and censorship. Curious thing: they would live better if they could just look through the simplicity eye and if they could really meet the people they’re in charge of. If they could just know them, they would fall in love with them and would even do all means necessary to protect them. And they would see that these films help them, even their children.

If you want to sign up to demand the freedom of Wangchen, please click here. It will take you right away to the Amnesty International’s petition page.

          Thanks a bunch for reading! Also, if you want to watch both films, here ya go!

*All the images redirect to their original site; the ones not doing it are screenshots taken by me.


Sabiduría Nativa.

9 Dec

Luz Arcoiris

El Gran Espíritu:

1) Wocekiya – “Oración”
2) Waohola – “Respeto”
3) Waunsila – “Compasión”
4) Wowicake – “Honestidad”
5) Wawokiye – “Generosidad”
6) Wahwala – “Humildad”
7) Woksape – “Sabiduría”


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The Little Kings: Daily Post Challenge

3 Dec

As part of the newest challenge in the Daily Post, which I occasionally follow, I will post my participation in this week’s newest challenge called “Snapshot“, which involves capturing a moment using words, not a camera. Since I had so many scenes in my mind and none was working, I decided to base myself instead of a photo, and used this one as my inspiration:

Militarizan en Juárez cargos públicos

Good ol’ desert streets… In any case, I tried to use words to describe this snap moment. Now, if I succeeded… Be my guest, my reading judgue. I hope you enjoy it!

I’m the king, the little guy thinks. I’m the king. A soldier takes care of me. I am the king of the city. The kings are assisted by the soldiers. So, by logic, I am the king. And the little count walking beside him grins as well. So powerful, he feels. They have in the city these men that look after them, the little kings of the city, without paying them anything, or so they think. Yet they don’t know this photo shot is gray. They’re not aware we’re looking at them through these gray colours. They just see the colours, but one day they might see the vibrant red that’s flooding the streets of the city. How should they know of the existence of this gray? They just see the wide streets, leading them to their kingdom, to the Tire-and-Bottle Land. What else do they want with their very own field just for themselves, just in front, in the end of the street they’re walking in? I’m the king, this child thinks, because there’s a soldier staring at the horizon, looking after me.

And the soldier, motionless, indeed looks at nothing. Just nothing. He doesn’t see anything at all. Just nothing. He doesn’t see a hopeful horizon. He doesn’t see the people he should serve. He doesn’t see the little kings at his feet. He can’t see anything. He doesn’t see anything. Because he can just glare at nothing. Because he came from nowhere, and nowhere he will go. He contemplates at nothing, he works for that precisely: for nothing. But he does notice the shades of gray. He does know what’s behind him—he knows he’s the guardian of another king—and he doesn’t see it directly, but he knows he’s back there. That’s what moves him. It’s his core. It’s his nourishment.

Behind him, the kings he protects, knowingly without seeing them. In front of him, the little kings he should protect, unknowingly despite seeing him under his nose.

A wide street. Gray. Filthy. Their trucks are overwhelming bisons. There’s no more heat in this desert city. The chill’s in the scene, hidden in the gray.

Thanks a bunch for reading!


If you don’t read this post, you’re a bad person

1 Dec

Before I start, I would like to welcome you to check the Spanish version of this article in my new blog, in where I will post my original work before moving it to here. Why? Well, it’s easier to post in your native language, and I want to communicate in both worlds.

Anyways, onto the fast-opinion-post…

One of my favourite phrases is “the world doesn’t need charity, it needs justice”. Many times I did look for the author of this quote, yet always getting different results everytime; once I got a woman, another time I got a man. And I was all this way, looking for nothing, without complaining at all, as I reached the conclusion that the author isn’t that important, but the quote itself. Of course, we need to know who said it just to get a bit more the context, but I believe this phrase is so powerful by its own that it doesn’t have any hidden background. I was, actually, this close of starting a little war with me debating on who said it and that’s a bit against my own philosophy: I am ok with everything, as long as it helps the world.

First of all, let me share you a little personal thought: I am a bit Machiavellian. But oh no, no, I don’t believe that the end can be justified by all the means. Oh no, I am a firm believer that, sometimes, the very same mean can destroy the end itself, and that’s why we must be careful with our own choices. I don’t know how it is with the people, but I am, frankly, alright with everything, just if it is good for both parts, the maker and the receiver, and both agree with said action and aware of all of its dimensions. Maybe I am wrong, but I assure you that this thought was born from the feeling of not wanting to get in trouble with anybody and wanting to be an open minded person who wants to cooperate in harmonizing the world.

Ohai there. Justifying the end by the means, are you?

And that’s why I tend to get frustrated with people who isn’t clear or who manipulates language with lots of rhetoric and use of emotions. Well, to be honest, it frightens me when they don’t even use emoticons in their mails as I have problems reading intentions and between lines. It’s paranoia mostly, but I do thank people when they’re clear and emoticon-ish in their messages, as I only understand everything this way and I feel they’re not hiding anything. Even inside indirect remarks there can be clarity, actually!

And this is why I have a problem with the Mexican telethon event.

For my English-speaking readers, let me summarize it: the Mexican annual telethon, appropriately called “Teletón”, has been object of considerable backslash on the Mexican internet public for a good while, as it has been said and deduced that the whole event, done by our most powerful TV Network, it’s a huge hoax to steal money from donors to evade taxes and enrich themselves via emotional manipulation with the handicapped children, as they’re the targets of all the money with the creation of several rehab centers around the country. Naturally, those people have been criticized and demonized in the media, and have used the arguments that they don’t want to help the children. You know, the usual media attack tactic and stuff…

I couldn’t find lots of English sites to sum you up the whole story, but I hope that the ones I did find with can at least illustrate the background of the TV Network that got some dark secrets behind.

It has been said that the telethon is just a way to evade taxes, considering the huge market brought by this TV Network who patronizes it and the huge donations done by the corporations who publicize their products inside the event, giving to the network enough money—getting up to three times the money got in the very same donations—to open the CRITS (these are the rehabilitation centers for the children, by the way), so most of the donations are unnecessary as they would already have the money for all the costs. Yet, they still want more

I won’t delve too mucho into the subject, though. I bet that, because these telethons are common around the world, people already have some knowledge of them. I do personally believe that there’s a dirty hand behind these acts, especially if we consider the background and low quality programming that this network offers to the Mexican audience. Yet, I would like to simply ask this question which can be applied not only to this case, but to many:


Why are there people who can’t feel anything towards others? Is money this important like to make shows out of handicapped children? Why, people? Why?

As I said in the beginning, the world needs justice, not charity. These telethons shouldn’t exist, and I don’t say it because I am a horrible monster who believes that poor children must be left in the street, but because this is something the government should fix. Why, if our taxes are supposed to create these rehabilitation centers in first place, without the need of more charity done via TV! I actually believe that, when these kind of events are common in a certain place, it’s a sign that something’s quite smelly around here; so smelly that it makes the government need charity to save these children instead of itself. And that’s if the money reaches these rehab centers in first place.

Cruella de Vil

This is a photo of me with a coat made of dead puppies. Fear me.

Children aren’t tools. And these kids with needs are exploited to end these means. And they know you can’t say no: they know how to exploit the guilty side of people. And ass I said, it bothers me how these people manipulate us via this kind of language: emotional, Maury-circus-like use of language. In these telethons, they bring handicapped children to move hearts and make an emotional blackmail. “You’ll be a terrible person if you don’t donate to this hurtful child!” And then the piano starts playing.

Kawai grand piano, ebony polish

I hate it when they blackmail me with the piano: I love so much the piano…

I want to confess you that, as a child, I was a submissive, gullible and manipulated child. It was quite easy to convince me: I rarely said no, or never thought on the consequences. And believe me: it’s awful when you realize the lies they put you through. And now that I am an adult, I am a rather cold person: I want to be careful to not fall again on the lies. And that’s why it offends me that they’re trying to offend my intelligence by manipulating my feelings with these children, and they dare to repeat this every year, insinuating that I shall be an awful person if I don’t donate. It really surprises me that people can steal and yet have the guts to accuse people.

If people want to help, I say they can do it by demanding a better health care for everybody and support for these children. And I don’t say it just because it is their actual duty: it’s a matter of logic. Why, our money goes there, with the taxes! Our donation was already given, dammit!

But as I said, it weighs me even more to wonder why are there people who let this happen… Why can’t they think in these children? Why? Have we fallen so low already? Why do they greed for yachts, limousines, jewels…? Why can’t they see that money won’t last?

But oh well, I didn’t start this fast post just to complain about the Telethon, but to register this example of dehumanization of this 2000s which we’re living right now, sadly. I planned to write about Turkey Day (I, by the way, love how in Mexico we call it Turkey Day instead of Thanksgiving Day! We’re just there for the turkey… Now this is sincerity, people!), but people have done it already, and even better than I, and I decided to post on this little issue that’s mostly spoken in the Mexican social networks, mostly to post about this question of why. I just want to know at what extreme have we reached…

Hush, turkey! We’ll eat you, no matter what you say!

But of course, any opinion, expansion, correction, etcetera is more than welcome. Just remember this: I don’t mean any harm with this opinion. I want the best for these children. I wish they all could receive the help they need (because not most of them receive in the end help in the CRITS and many are rejected due to thousands of reasons), but I feel that charity is not enough: they need support from the government, that’s what the taxes are for! I am more afraid that I sounded like the after-mentioned Cruella DeVil when I just tried to express my concern that these telethons aren’t the most trustworthy things and that they actually steal what should be for the children, at least in the Mexican case. I’ve seen that these events are not always used for the people, so I want to raise a warning sign should they reveal completely that this was used for selfish ends. What do I win by staining these events? What would I do with the money I receive from the “evil opponents” of these practices?


…Well, many things, like getting myself a new PlayStation 4, but again: I wouldn’t need it when the PlayStation 5 comes out, so…

And as I like to say, who am I to know the truth? If I knew it, I would be already in somewhere else. And I want to help expand horizons so we can reach the truth. If I possess an incorrect bit, you’re free to tell me. I just want to avoid the use of silence to cover these acts of selfishness. Because I worry a lot for these children who are used as dehumanized tools.

Thanks a bunch for passing by!

*None of the images belong to me. Click on them to go back where I found them*